Murder Theory
by Darkfangz13
Summary: Sherlock and John befriend a strange, vacationing, Asian girl at a crime scene the night before they are sucked into a serial murder case together. A/N OC modeled on a friend of mine.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

John stuffed his hands into his pockets and let out a sigh, watching his breath vaporize in the cold Winter air. Sherlock was, as always, looming over the most recent body with Lestrade at his side, ready to snap up any new information that the consulting detective could offer. John could never keep himself calm at crime scenes, there was always the nausea in the pit of his stomach, or the horrified gasp at what monstrosity the killer introduced them to.

He could feel the disapproving stares Anderson and Donovan were sending him, he could almost hear their curiosity 'why hasn't the doctor run for the hills yet? Surely, nobody on Earth could have enough patience to deal with the Freak.' He shook his head to clear his head of any thoughts as he moved toward the caution tape for a breath of fresh air.

He felt a cold drop of water splash onto his forehead and looked up with a groan as cold sheets of rain was dropped on the crime scene like the Heavens just opened up. He wished Sherlock would at least hurry his tenacious examinations up before the thunder rolled around. If there were any curious observers, they were gone now, all scurrying to find shelter and John wished he was among them.

But there was one remaining onlooker, a little girl that couldn't be older than twelve still stood stock still in the drizzling rain, watching the constabulary hurry about like headless chickens. John cast a glance back at Sherlock to assure himself that his flatmate hadn't run off somewhere before turning back to the girl.

She was Asian, that, John could see without Sherlock telling him so. She was careless about her appearance, she wore a jacket that didn't match her shirt and a pair of jeans that was a size too big for her... and her sneakers had holes in them. But, other than her shoes, the rest of her clothes were in good shape, so she wasn't poor. She hadn't run for shelter from the rain yet, and she had a carefully detached expression as her eyes darted from the body, to Sherlock, who was studying the body, and to Lestrade, who was listening to Sherlock ramble.

And then her gaze fell on him. There was no shock, or horror, in her eyes, just a look of resignation and forced apathy. "Who's that?" John jerked and gasped sharply at Sherlock's sudden intrusion on his musings.

"I don't know..." John was saying, but Sherlock was already at the plastic barrier and was lifting it over his tall frame, leaving John to hobble after him.

"Evening." The girl turned from the crime scene to acknowledge the two of them. "Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, you?" The girl blinked.

"Bored, curious, and won't talk to strangers." she replied, brusque, but not rude.

"Ah..." Sherlock cocked his head with a slightly puzzled look on his face. "...huh, wise decision." He glanced back at John who had just caught up to him. "John Watson, my assistant." John nodded curtly at the girl.

"Nice to meet you." the girl greeted him politely. "Can you tell me what's going on here?" She shot a glance at Lestrade, who was watching them curiously, wondering why they were still at the crime scene, Sherlock had already finished his examinations.

"Oh, not much, just a murder." Sherlock wrinkled his nose a little in contempt. "Boring case." The girl raised an eyebrow.

"A murder? Boring?" Sherlock let out a breath with an annoyed look that spoke of many past conversations like this one. Apparently, the girl had caught on to it too and was quick to redeem. "Nevermind that. What are you doing here? If the case is boring, I mean? Shouldn't Scotland Yard be enough to handle it?" John blinked in slight surprise. "I mean, if the case was dull, then that means there has been one, or more, cases like it before?"

John could almost hear Sherlock's brain clicking and whirring into motion. Why _had_ Lestrade called them in? Other than the fact that he was up against a wall, of course. "Yes, well, everybody at Scotland Yard is incompetent... except maybe Lestrade, there may still be hope for him." Although, Sherlock didn't sound so hopeful when he said that.

"I don't think it's a very good idea, calling them incompetent when they are still clearly within hearing range." the girl narrowed her eyes at Sherlock. "They might not invite you to crime scenes anymore."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Obviously, I've hit a nerve. Are you a friend?"

The girl shook her head. "Cold."

"Family?" She snorted.

"Colder."

"Cadet?" Even Sherlock sounded dubious at that.

"I think it should be obvious that I don't live in England." The girl grimaced. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders with a grumble that sounded suspiciously like 'well it was worth the shot'.

"No, you don't live in England, you're here on vacation." Sherlock continued, louder and more confident.

"Yes, I have a pamphlet advertising London in my back pocket, that I got at the airport." The girl filled in.

"You're obviously Asian and your sneakers are a Japanese brand." Sherlock observed.

"But my shirt is of an American one." The girl smiled with clear interest in the consulting detective's deductions.

"Your glasses arn't, though, you got them in Japan, therefore, you live in Japan." Sherlock said smugly. "But you pointed out that you don't live in England when I guessed you were a cadet, you know the requirements of joining the police force. So you have an interest in the occupation. You were quick to defend the constables when I called them incompetent, you have an admiration for them."

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Guilty."

"You were studying the crime scene, not the body, but the people surrounding it. You were observing their reactions, their expressions, psychology student?" The girl rolled her eyes.

"I haven't even graduated high school yet!" Sherlock hummed.

"Future psychology student, then."

"Contemplating criminal justice, actually."

"Then the observing expressions?"

"Well, sure the body is interesting, but the bodies arn't going anywhere, whereas, the interesting expressions on people's faces are only shown for nano-seconds."

Finally, Lestrade couldn't contain his curiosity any longer and walked over. "Is something wrong?" John just shook his head at him, slightly shell-shocked.

"No, we just might've, potentially found Sherlock's soul mate." Lestrade's eyebrows met his hairline as he saw the girl.

"In a primary schooler?" Lestrade honestly looked worried. The girl's eyebrow twitched almost indistinctly.

She turned to look at Sherlock. "I look like a twelve year old?"

"Asians _are_ a great deal smaller than Europeans." Sherlock pointed out, she scowled at him.

"I'm sixteen, turning seventeen next year, Spring." Silence...

"Uh, ah, awkward." Lestrade stammered sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it, everybody thought I was nine when I was twelve..." The girl chuckled a little.

"Um, excuse me..." Three heads swiveled to look at John when they heard the patient exasperation in his voice. "... Rain, people?" The three heads turned Heavenward to watch the downpour.

"Hm, better get to shelter, then, shouldn't we?" Lestrade excused himself to leave with his team of constables. Sherlock turned to the girl.

"Your hotel around here?" The girl shook her head. "Well, Baker Street is... would you...?" The girl looked from Sherlock, to John, and back uncertainly.

"You have a frightening skill in observation, and you were just jumping around gleefully at a crime scene with a bloody body." John cocked his head. It was a good argument. "...Fine. But just for a short while." John was only half aware that his jaw was hanging open.

Sherlock just looked mildly interested. "Well, that's a new development."

"What is?"

"Usually people turn around and run for the hills screaming bloody murder when I invite them into my house." The girl just shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm an existentialist, Mr. Holmes." She held out her hand. "Sasaki," she introduced herself, "Sasaki Ayumu."

Mrs. Hudson was near catatonic at the sight of her tenants. "Goodness gracious!" she wailed as she bustled around, putting a pot on the stove and draping worn blankets around the half-drowned trio. "Come here, by the furnace." she said authoritatively.

Then she caught sight of the youngest of the freezing trio. "Mrs. Hudson..." John trailed off at her half-inquisitive, half-aghast look.

"I'm really sorry for the inconvenience." Sasaki spoke up at John's look of despair. "I'd hate to intrude, but it's simply impossible to get back to my hotel in this kind of weather." Sasaki had a nervous, unsure, shy look on her face, John had seen that look on Sherlock's face enough to know that it wasn't entirely genuine.

Mrs. Hudson melted immediately. "Oh, but of course you could stay! It really is dreadful weather, isn't it? You poor darling!" She set down steaming cups of tea in front of the three. "Now drink up and get warm! I'm not a doctor like John is, but I'm pretty sure you three were near hypothermia!" Sasaki had to smile warmly at the mother hen as she gratefully wrapped her small hands around her cup and blew on her tea.

"So... doctor." John pulled his sleepy gaze away from the dancing flame in the furnace. "Are you a ...surgeon?" John nodded lollingly, then his eyes widened in surprise.

"Wait, how did you...?"

"You smell of disinfectant, and the incisions on your pointer fingers, Doctor, it's from holding wires taut during surgeries, isn't it?" Sasaki pointed out. "They run in perfect, diagonal lines across your fingers, unlike the small pinprick of a scar on Mr. Holmes's left finger where he must've drawn blood, only enough for a few drops." She turned to Sherlock. "You are studying in forensic, or chemical sciences?" Sherlock blinked.

"Both, actually." Sasaki hummed to herself, the sound was positively hypnotic to the drowsy doctor.

"Mr. Holmes..." Sasaki broke the brief silence in the room.

"Just Sherlock, please." Sherlock insisted, Sasaki nodded.

"...Sherlock," She smiled a little, bemusedly, glancing at John. "...I think the good doctor has abandoned us."

Sherlock shifted in his seat to look at his flatmate. John was sleeping, quite deeply considering the deep dips his chest took. He was curled up under Mrs. Hudson's blankets like a large dog, emitting contented sighs every few minutes. "So he has."

"Poor thing, he must be exhausted!" Mrs. Hudson cooed at the unconscious man. "Sherlock, dear, help him to his room, will you?" she asked sweetly. And the cold-hearted, sociopathic detective could not, for all the world, keep from relenting.

"I'll, er... you want me to open the doors for you?" Sasaki offered kindly, jumping up as Sherlock heaved the sleeping man to his feet, slinging John's arm over his shoulder.

"Please, that would be lovely." Sherlock grunted in reply as he wrapped a firm arm around John's waist.

After a few gentle attempts from Mrs. Hudson at coaxing John into wakefulness, he was conscious enough to drag his feet sluggishly up the stairs to their shared flat. "Second floor, deary." Mrs. Hudson whispered to Sasaki and the girl scuttled off to open the door to John's room.

She drew the duvet away from the mattress for Sherlock to dump his half-coherent flatmate onto the bed. She threw the covers over him as soon as the three of them had him stripped out of his soaked clothes. "Wonderful!" Sherlock sighed in relief when he was finally liberated of his burden. "Not exactly a conventional house call, is this? I do apologize." He and Sasaki sat at the foot of John's bed for a moment of peace and quiet as Mrs. Hudson tucked John in.

"I've had to tend to piss drunk older sisters before, I'll be fine as long as I compare this incident to those ones." Sasaki grinned wryly.

Sherlock let out a snorting laugh. "Quite right."

The two of them moved downstairs to give the exhausted doctor some privacy as Mrs. Hudson returned to her own rooms to find something suitable for Sasaki to wear. Sasaki stared blankly at the skull on the mantle as Sherlock poked at the splintering logs in the furnace. "Is that real?" Sherlock was distracted from his gentle stabbing to look at Sasaki, then followed her gaze to the skull.

"Yes, that is real." was his usually blunt reply. Sasaki just nodded like having real, human skulls decorating your mantlepiece was an everyday occurrence.

"You don't happen to call it 'Yorick' sometimes, do you?" She chuckled jokingly, Sherlock abandoned his prodding entirely to blink at her blankly.

"Uh..." Sasaki forcefully pulled her gaze away from the skull to level a curious look at Sherlock.

"You know... Yorick, from Hamlet?" Still, Sherlock graced her with his blank look. "Uh, nevermind." Sasaki shrugged her shoulders. "It's not important."

"Is it common knowledge?" Sherlock asked, moving to his usual seat, which felt strange because Sasaki was sitting where John should be.

"Well..." Sasaki looked like she was choosing her words carefully. "...yeah, kind of." Apparently, Sasaki had come to the conclusion that telling Sherlock outright was alot less humiliating than trying to sugarcoat her words. "The play _was_ written by William Shakespeare, after all."

"And you're not disturbed that I don't know this? I know John is, at least somewhat annoyed." Sasaki shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not disturbed by the things you somehow know, why should I be disturbed by the things you don't know? Besides, like I said, I'm an existentialist."

Mrs. Hudson burst through the door at that moment, taking Sasaki and leading her downstairs to her bathroom for a warm bath she prepared, ignoring the clear 'but I'm already almost dry!' whines that Sasaki was whimpering. "She'll stay with me in my flat. You take a bath and go to sleep!" The stern landlady ordered Sherlock.

"Goodnight!" Sherlock heard Sasaki call quietly over her shoulder as to not awaken John.

"Goodnight." The door swung closed behind Mrs. Hudson. "Strange visitor."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The first thing that John realized when he woke up, was that he was in his warm bed. The second was that the ceiling he was currently staring at wasn't Mrs. Hudson's. The third was the image of a young girl who looked four years younger than her age, opening the door of the flat he shared with Sherlock and being dragged bodily up the stairs to his room. He shot up. "Shi...t...!" he groaned, burying his head in his hands.

Then he got out of bed, panicking slightly at the loss of his clothes. He wrapped a nightgown around his body and stumbled downstairs, rubbing his eyes. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock and Sasaki looked up at him from their place in the sitting room. John wasn't sure what horrified him the most: that Sherlock was conducting an experiment on the coffee table, that he was in the process of submerging a human arm in a container of acid, that he was doing it in the presence of a child, or the fact that Sasaki was watching the experiment with avid interest. "Sherlock...!" John's tone was clearly reproachful.

"I did try to tell him that acid was a hazard to the environment!" Sasaki defended herself. "He should use heated corrosion powder water, I hear that works just as well!" John's mouth dropped open in shock, then he closed it. Then he opened it again to speak, thought better of it, and closed it.

"Corrosion powder?" Sherlock questioned quizzically.

"I saw it done on a pig's limb, in a documentary." Sasaki grinned. "I've never tried it before, though. They said it strips the meat and leaves clean bone."

"It's easy to obtain the powder." Sherlock mused.

"And easy to dispose of the remains." Sasaki agreed.

"The bones?"

"Cremate them, crush them, smuggle it into someone else's cinerary urn. They won't know it's the remains of a stranger, nobody ever will." Sasaki suggested.

"But how will you get the ash into the urn without the undertaker's knowing?"

"Simple, you become the undertaker in question."

"That's just brilliant." Sherlock breathed in slight awe.

"You're thinking about killing someone?" John asked in subdued horror, although it was more of a statement than a question. Sherlock replied 'yes' and Sasaki answered 'no' simultaneously.

"Sherlock and I were merely brainstorming foolproof ways to kill and get away with it. The perfect murder." Sasaki kindly explained. "I'm an amateur writer in my free time, Sherlock has already introduced your blog to me." She grinned. "And I'm impressed!"

John rubbed his aching forehead. "Oh, um, thank you." he mumbled. "What about your parents? Shouldn't you be getting back to your hotel?" he then asked concernedly.

"Don't worry about it! I came to England alone, I just needed to use the laptop for a bit, post a few comments on Facebook, you know." John looked at the laptop Sasaki was gesturing to.

"Sherlock..." Sherlock raised his hands in mock defense.

"Alright! Fine! I'll use my own laptop, then, next time!" Sasaki just shook her head amusedly and was quick to apologize to John.

"It's alright, really, only Sherlock is to blame here." John grumbled. "I'm surprised, though, you two seem to actually be getting along." Sherlock and Sasaki glanced at each other and grimaced.

"No, he's too arrogant." Sasaki whined.

"Too passive... and ignorant."

"Well, I'm only sixteen! Forgive me if I haven't the intelligence you have!" With their brief banter finished, Sasaki excused herself to find Mrs. Hudson and steal a few scones for breakfast.

"She always does that. Why does she do that?" Sherlock waved in the general direction in which Sasaki disappeared.

"Do...?" John coaxed, raising an eyebrow.

"She... _knows_ things!" Sherlock stressed the verb. "Corrosion Powder? Really! It's not natural!" He was, for all the world, grinning.

Then his phone chimed, signaling an incoming mail. Sherlock picked it up and his eyes lit like Christmas lights. "It's from Lestrade! He says to come to Scotland Yard immediately!" He jumped up, grabbing his coat. "You coming, John?" And John knew he would.

* * *

><p>"Where is it?" Sherlock demanded eagerly when he caught sight of the DI. Lestrade let out a sigh.<p>

"There... " The constable bit his lips into a thin line like he always did when he was stressed about something. Sherlock entered the evidence room and his eyes positively sparkled.

"That's..." For one glorious moment, Sherlock Holmes, the man who thought too fast for his words to properly catch up with him, was at a loss for what to say. "That's... new." John peered around his flatmate's tall, bony frame and gasped.

"That is..." John felt the rare wish to hurl. "Is that..." John turned away in horror, Lestrade was right to call in Sherlock.

There was not a single inch of flesh on the skeleton, although the skeletal structure itself seemed clean, fresh, polished almost. There was a clear, glass bin on the table near the skeleton's head. It contained two bright blue eyes, the azure colour of the sea on a sunny day. Sherlock stared at the optical organs from his spot at the foot of the table with a morbid fascination.

"Where was this found?" he demanded.

"It was buried in a cemetery, placed in a previously buried coffin."

"Two skeletons in one coffin?" John didn't understand why Sherlock had felt the need for a confirmation like that.

"Two bodies in one grave, yes." Lestrade replied grimly.

"And the eyes?"

"In the coffin with the two skeletons." Finally, Sherlock tore his gaze away from the eyes to look at Lestrade.

"Why was the coffin unearthed in the first place?"

"One of the gravediggers working there noticed that the earth at that grave was upturned recently and thought it suspicious. He called in authorities to investigate." Lestrade sighed. "What do you think of it?"

Sherlock donned elastic gloves as to not unknowingly tamper with evidence, he ran a hand down the skeleton's skull. "This victim, male, young, probably athletic, was killed by a single blow to the back of the head." He clicked his tongue sharply as he made a show of tapping the cavity. "Cracked his skull wide open, was dead before he hit the ground." He ran his fingers delicately over the circular cavities of the eyes. "No scratches, the killer obviously knew what he was doing, he probably even had access to the right tools to extract the eyes." He stooped over the table and began examining the skeletal structure. "The killer was careful not to break any bones, why?"

Sherlock unfolded his frame and began pacing along the length of the room. "He must've had an isolated spot where he could murder his victim and go through the tedious ritual of disposing the body." he murmured aloud to himself. "How long ago was the earth upturned? Was grass growing there?" Lestrade shook his head.

"The gravediggers all agreed that the ground was undisturbed the day before."

"Which means that there must be more than one killer in this case, digging down through six feet to reach the coffin would take longer time than a single killer would have." Sherlock rambled off.

"What about that idea that Sasaki came up with? What if this group of killers consisted of the undertaker and gravediggers? They would have sufficient time, space, and isolation." Sherlock shot a look of contempt at him.

"Then, why would they report that the grave was disturbed, in the first place, John? Don't be ridiculous! Besides, we must bend theory to fact, not fact to theory. You should know that already." He turned back to look at the examination table, deep in thought. "It just doesn't work that way." He tapped a finger against the examination table. "There's something I'm not seeing here..."

Then he looked at Lestrade with a sly look on his face. The DI knew that look all too well. "Sherlock, no..." John looked puzzled, he'd been living with Sherlock for a while now, was there still something he wasn't aware of?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he near skipped up the stairs to the landing in front of their flat. John and Lestrade followed after him clumsily, bearing various sized boxes.

"Hell- Sherlock? What's going on here?" Mrs. Hudson questioned when she saw the defeated look on Lestrade's face and the resigned look on John's.

"I doubt you'd want to know, Mrs. Hudson, please don't talk to me right now. I'm thinking." Sherlock murmured, holding the flat door open for the other two men.

"I can't believe you've talked me into this!" Lestrade grumbled as he grudgingly placed the boxes he held on the floor and opened them. "You're sure you know exactly how to reconstruct this?" He picked up the skeleton's skull with carefully gloved hands.

"Of course I can, who do you think I am?"

It was a good two hours and a half later that Sherlock, John, and Lestrade finished fitting the entire skeleton back together on the kitchen counter. Sherlock ran a finger over a smooth patella. "There's just something... wrong with this." he murmured unhappily. "Why won't my brain find the inaccuracy?" He collapsed his full length on the couch, rapping his knuckles gently on his head. "John, my brain is rotting! I used to be able to do this!" he whined childishly.

"I think you'd better..." John turned to Lestrade with a grim, long suffering look. "... He'll call you if he finds something new." Lestrade shot a glance at the consulting detective and nodded.

"Right, see you then." He excused himself and left the flat, barely hearing Sherlock demanding John tell him why his brain wasn't working 'you're a doctor, arn't you?' He shook his head with a sigh. He was infinitely glad he wasn't Sherlock Holmes's flatmate.

* * *

><p>"He claims his brain is rotting?" Sasaki repeated amusedly after listening to John's recounts of the day before. "A brain that big, is it possible?"<p>

John grimaced. "He seems to believe so."

John had been surprised, to say in the least, when Sasaki had showed up at his clinic just in time for lunch break and the two of them were dining at a nearby Oriental restaurant. Sarah had been cautious of the place since the Chinese circus incident, and John never offered to bring her there. He always found it strange to eat in a restaurant alone and was genuinely glad that Sasaki had come along.

"Is he, like, not thinking at all? Or just thinking all the wrong things?" Sasaki asked him curiously.

"I'm not sure, I never got around to asking." John looked sheepish. "I forgot entirely in my desperation to keep him from taking his frustrations out at the wall again." Sasaki snorted in amusement as she picked at her chicken.

"You know, it would take about twenty-seven gallons of acid and several weeks for the flesh on the skeleton to dissolve in acid... does Scotland Yard know how old the body is?" John shook his head. "Figures, not much physical evidence is left on bodies left in acid baths."

"I suppose not." John murmured, stabbing his meat with his fork as he cut the bones away from it. He was all thumbs, he never did understand how people could cleanly pick meat off the bones.

Sasaki watched him with a grimace. "You know, there _is_ a way to pick the meat off the bones without ripping it apart..." Then a look of sudden inspiration flashed across Sasaki's face as she watched his movements in silent awe, mouth hanging open an inch.

"You don't think... It couldn't be... But, it might be possible." She stammered and stuttered. "Can you get Sherlock on the phone?" John looked at her, then to his mutilated fish. Obviously, Sasaki was on to something here, and he really wasn't seeing it.

"Sure..." Sherlock was on speed dial, anyway.

The phone rang once before being snatched up by Sherlock. "John, what is it?" He sounded a little desperate, obviously he hadn't gotten over his brief lapse of mental thought.

John put the phone on speaker mode as he placed the gadget on the table between Sasaki and himself. "It's Sasaki." he informed the detective and motioned for the girl to speak.

"I heard about the case, Sherlock." Sasaki cleared her throat. "I was thinking that the body could've, maybe, been split between a few people?"

There was silence on the other end as hundreds of thoughts and ideas rushed like a raging torrent through Sherlock's mind. "A doctor, or professor..." he murmured, understanding what Sasaki was going with this conversation.

"Someone who would know exactly how to separate the skeleton, as well as reconstruct it without breaking bone." Sasaki chimed in.

"If several different people had charge of destroying each a body part..."

"The time it would take to dissolve the entire body would diminish greatly, yes."

"There were slight scrape marks on the Cervical and Lumbar Vertebrae..."

"No markings on the limbs, they were broken off by the cartilage and it's not unnatural for parts of the bones to erode."

"Easier to hide the body. Say, a week, or two, to dissolve the entire body."

"They all meet up at the cemetery, dig up the grave together, and bury the body together."

"They made it so that every single one of them would have a clear hand in the crime..."

"And now, you'll just have to find who the victim is, who wanted him dead, and round them all up in one fell swoop."

"Brilliant! My mind is firing up again! Where's John?" Sherlock suddenly demanded.

"Staring at his torn-up fish, which was the original inspiration to my epiphany... I don't think he's got the appetite to eat it anymore." Sasaki smiled sympathetically at the good doctor.

"Good, perfect! John, get back to Baker Street, now!"

* * *

><p>"I've already called Scotland Yard, Lestrade is expecting us there." Sherlock greeted John and Sasaki, walking out of their flat as they arrived.<p>

"I'll stay here, Scotland Yard probably wouldn't welcome the intrusion." John and Sherlock nodded at her, leaving her with Mrs. Hudson as they dashed off wildly in search of a cab.

"Lestrade said another body turned up, this one in a different cemetery. At first the gravediggers didn't pay the upturned dirt much attention, but Lestrade put out a notice to every cemetery in the area to look out for signs of disturbance and they dug it up." John grimaced.

"More eyes?" Sherlock nodded silently, inwardly excited, but not showing for John's sake.

"More eyes, green, this time."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Did you find the identity of our first victim?" Sherlock asked as Lestrade led them to the evidence room. "You know, for serial killers, the first kill is usually the most important."

"Yes, his name was Harry Whitefield, he was supposed to be on a plane to America to study, but considering the fact that his body is here, he never made it."

"When was this flight?"

"Two months ago."

The three entered the evidence room and approached the skeleton on the table. This one was slightly newer than the late Whitefield's, elderly, and female, but it was still in good condition. Sherlock immediately checked for the same cut marks he had seen on the vertebrae of the first victim. Sure enough, he did find them. But no crack in the skull... strangulation? No, chances the bones in the neck would've snapped. Drowning? The first kill was clumsy and messy, they wanted a kill with no blood. They wanted a skeleton in perfect condition. As serial killers, they were evolving, getting better, more efficient. He straightened his body to gain his full height.

"Very good, I'd like a list of all the people close to Harry Whitefield before he died." Lestrade, forseeing this demand, had a file waiting for him. He handed it over. Sherlock took it and flipped through the list of contacts. Then he stabbed a name triumphantly. "Joseph Colt: medical professor at Barts." His brow furrowed a little. "Why is it always Molly?" he wondered aloud before sweeping dramatically out of the room with John scurrying after him and rolling his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, I'm working with Scotland Yard. Hi." Sherlock introduced himself forcefully to drown out Colt's insists that they leave.<p>

"Sir, I'm teaching a class right now!" Colt exclaimed indignantly at his lecture being so rudely disturbed.

"Not anymore." Sherlock pushed past the flustered professor and addressed the students. "Evening." he smiled warmly. "So sorry to interrupt your class, but Professor Colt is being called away to very important business." he explained, then he grabbed John by the shoulder. "But don't worry! John, here, will continue where Professor Colt left off. Do excuse us."

Sherlock quickly guided the shell-shocked lecturer out of the classroom, leaving John gaping after him in shock. The class door swung closed behind the detective with a resonating 'boom', sealing the poor doctor's fate. He turned to the bewildered class with a look of dismay. "Oh, Hell."

* * *

><p>Sasaki sighed for the third time in the last ten minutes, she was staring out into Baker Street from Mrs. Hudson's flat window. Mrs. Hudson had gone out shopping for groceries and had adamantly declined every offer Sasaki gave to accompany her, saying that London was a lot colder and damper than Japan and that she didn't want Sasaki to come down with the flu. Although, Sasaki did have to admit that her nose w<em>as<em> running.

She sniffed and cast another glance at the phone on Mrs. Hudson's kitchen counter. John had promised to call back with more information on the case and still the communications device hadn't stirred. 'Maybe it's broken' she thought absently.

Then she heard the flat door open and close quietly. "Mrs. Hudson?" she called out eagerly, near lunging toward the door. She heard Mrs. Hudson gasp followed by a crash of groceries hitting the floor and a 'thump'. Sasaki dashed out of the sitting room, fire poker in hand.

The first thing she saw was Mrs. Hudson curled in a heap on the floor. The second was the sight of the average-built man standing over her. A hand clamped over her mouth from behind to stifle her panicked shouts, the intruder wasn't alone. Sasaki twisted around in the man's grip, poker swishing through the air and catching her assaulter squarely in the jaw. The first intruder leapt on her, knocking her to the ground and squeezing a hand around her throat, stealing the breath from her lungs.

"Careful! Don't break her neck!" Sasaki barely registered a third intruder warning his partner as he tended to their injured comrade. The hand came away and air rushed into her lungs.

"You're right, death right now would be too easy for scum like her." The first intruder hissed, Sasaki heard an electric crackle and felt her hairs rise on end before her skin contacted the taser and she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>"A few questions." Sherlock intoned as he dragged the terrified professor down the hall and away from his classroom. "A few very important questions before Lestrade comes to arrest you..." Colt gaped at the tall man who still had a firm grip on his arm.<p>

"What..! I didn't kill anybody!" Sherlock stopped walking suddenly and rolled his eyes at the professor in exasperation.

"I said 'arrest you' I never said 'with charge of murder'. Why can't you at least _try_ to make things more difficult?" Colt executed a strikingly good imitation of a goldfish.

"...What...?" Sherlock's shoulders sagged as he blew out a puff of air in frustration.

"Questions, I ask them, you reply- hopefully in full sentences- with coherent pronunciation." Colt nodded dumbly. "Why? Why did you do it? Who with? Where?" Colt stared like he wasn't sure which question to respond to first.

"Why? They were going to leave us..." Sherlock felt a minuscule tremor from the man right before he went glassy-eyed and his knees buckled under him.

"Sherlock! There you are! Where the Hell..." Lestrade's steps faltered as their suspect fell bonelessly out of Sherlock's grip and to the ground. "What happened!" Lestrade demanded.

Sherlock paled, dropped to his knees and turned the man over onto his stomach, revealing a growing red splash on his back. He looked up at the hallway window and saw a tiny hole that was opened in the bullet's wake. He felt Colt's hand grip weakly around his wrist and turned the dying man over. "They're going to get another one...!" Colt gasped through a mouthful of blood. "Lovely... shade, like... black chocolate." Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Sherlock's phone chimed, he took one glance at the caller's ID and turned his phone off.<p>

John noted the action. "Mycroft?" By the childishly stubborn look on Sherlock's face, he knew he had guessed right. Then John's phone chimed. "You forget he has my number." Sherlock shot John an irrate look.

John rolled his eyes and punched the 'pick-up' button. "Mycroft?"

"Doctor." Mycroft's usual cool voice filled the cab, causing Sherlock to jerk briefly in surprise. John had forgotten that he had set his phone to speaker mode when he was with Sasaki in the restaurant. "Please tell my _dear_ younger brother that 221 Baker Street flats have been broken into." Sherlock looked at the phone John held between them.

"What's that?" he queried.

"You heard me clearly the first time, Sherlock, I won't repeat myself. Nothing was taken, though."

John and Sherlock exchanged glances. "And, Mrs. Hudson?" John asked worriedly.

"She is fine, if a bit shaken up. She's at the hospital now, having a few scrapes and bruises tended to."

"Sasaki...?" Sherlock almost whispered. _'Why? They were going to leave us!' _His brain whirred, causing various gears to turn simultaneously._ 'Don't worry! I came to England alone!' _ He gritted his teeth. _'Lovely... shade, like... black chocolate.' _"Sasaki Ayumu, Mycroft, we left her in the flat with Mrs. Hudson."

There was silence on the other end of the line and John could imagine Mycroft pressing his cellphone to his shoulder as he barked out orders to find the Asian girl. Then came a fumbling noise and the phone was back at it's rightful place at Mycroft's ear. "My mistake, something w_as_ stolen from 221 Baker Street." John's eyes slid closed in despair as his jaw tightened. _Christ! She's just a little girl!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty!" Sasaki's eyes fluttered open blearily.

"What...?" She had only just registered the fact that the stranger's face was a mere ten inches away from hers before she started, and threw her head forward, resulting in a collision of bone and a satisfying 'crack'.

"Christ..! What the Hell!" The stranger stumbled backward, hands cradling his now bleeding and broken nose. Sasaki now realized that she was lying on her back, bound hand a foot to the table.

"Who...? Who are you?" she demanded as calmly as she could as she shook her limbs, testing the strength of her bindings.

"Oh, you _are _violent one, arn't you?" A new voice, female, hummed and determined footsteps approached the table with little interest in the injured man. Sasaki twisted and contorted to try and catch a glimpse of the newcomer. "First a jaw, now the nose..."

"Who are you?" Sasaki interrupted the woman.

"We are just a humble folk, easily befriended, easily thrown away..." The woman was now in Sasaki's sights as she leaned over her head. "..._Betrayed._"

The woman's hiss sent shivers down Sasaki's spine and the girl stubbornly turned her face away from the woman. "What does that have to do with me?" Sasaki questioned through gritted teeth.

"Oh, we hate deserters, don't we?" The woman called softly to the still groaning man on the floor. "Must keep loved ones close, mustn't we?" She began to gently pet Sasaki's straight, smooth hair.

"And anyone who tries to leave are killed, I suppose?" Sasaki spat. "Is Hot Fuzz a personal favorite with you?" She asked strainedly, but put on a cheeky smile. "What's an interesting life without a spot of slicing-and-dicing, hey?" Sasaki jerked on the table like she was attempting to punch the woman.

The woman smiled smugly down at her. "Admirable, such bravado! My boy, Harry and good old Bess were such slobbery messes when they were told they would die."

"'Please let me go.' 'Please, we're friends arn't we?' 'Please don't do this, Katheryn!'" The woman, Katheryn, droned on boredly.

"Yes, she was ever so good." Sasaki quoted sarcastically with a heavily butchered British accent.

"So she was." Katheryn smiled sadly as she began fiddling with a medical tool that looked horrifyingly similar to ones that were used to open up cavities in dead bodies during examinations.

"Oh, shut it!" Sasaki spat, swallowing nervously when her eyes found the tool. "You know, you're really very psychotic, arn't you?" Katheryn put the tool down and returned to the tableside. Sasaki silently breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Just like a Japanese doll." Katheryn brushed a lock of hair from Sasaki's face. "Such a waste." Katheryn moved back to the trolly of medical tools and returned with a scalpel. She pressed her fingers into Sasaki's right arm, feeling for the joint. Sasaki inwardly panicked. The mad woman was planning to dismember her while she was still conscious!

"K-Katheryn." Katheryn's fingers on Sasaki's arm froze at the sound of her name. "Can I... can I at least call my family? One last time, please?" Sasaki begged, Katheryn looked at her coldly.

"If you loved them, you wouldn't leave them." Sasaki clenched her eyes closed and leveled her breathing.

"I don't want to leave them." Sasaki bit the inside of her cheek to draw tears. "I don't - I never really wanted that." Katheryn looked like she was seriously considering the request.

"We don't have international phones."

"Then an e-mail, I just want to tell them not to worry." Katheryn was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Alright, but I'll be watching you carefully." Sasaki nodded gratefully as Katheryn brought her a laptop and untied her wrists. "But no more favors." Sasaki nodded meekly.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was still going over Lestrade's list of suspects when the e-mail came, but it did not come to his phone. He looked up annoyedly from his list to John's laptop when he heard an abnormal 'blurp!' sound, signaling an incoming message. "John!" he called out. "John! - <em>John!<em>" John dashed into the room from the kitchen.

"Sherlock, I'm trying to brew tea, can you be _anymore_ annoying?" Sherlock ignored the comment and just sent a pointed look at the laptop.

"It's disturbing me. Make it shut up." John rolled his eyes and took the laptop to read the message.

"Sherlock," John's eyes were wide with surprise. "It's from Sasaki." Sherlock jumped up and moved behind John to peer over his shoulder. "What does this mean?" John wondered aloud.

"Dear Sherl," Sherlock began to read aloud. "Thank you for letting me stay in your flat while I am vacationing. I had a good time! But I think my vacation will be cut short. But I'm alright, please be there to comfort my family. I'm going to disappear for a while, to clear my head. Tell Mom that I left a present for her in her tea cupboard. -Sasaki" Sherlock sat back in his usual seat, fingers steepled.

"'Sherl' obviously refers to me, 'Sherlock'." he mused. "Sasaki must've been either forced to write this good-bye note by the killers, or she is desperately trying to send us an important message."

"But what is it?" John wondered aloud to himself.

"By, 'vacation will be cut short' we can be quite sure that Sasaki knows her life is in immediate danger. But, comfort her family? Why would she ask us to do something like that?"

"Not her family..." John murmured, gaining a sudden burst of epiphany. "...The _victim's_! She wants us to center our investigations on the victim's family!" Sherlock snatched up the list of suspects.

"Gregory and Katheryn Whitefield..." Sherlock paled more than John had thought possible. "Katheryn, Harry's mother, works at an eye bank."

John continued reading the strange e-mail. "'Tell Mom that I left a present for her in her tea cupboard.'" Sherlock's gaze met his as realization threw itself on them.

"Mrs. Hudson!" They both exclaimed in unison as they grabbed their coats, rushing down the stairs to their landlady's flat.

"My goodness! What's all the commotion!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, having just gotten back from the hospital. "What's happened?"

"Sasaki has been kidnapped, Mrs. Hudson, she sent us a message saying that she left a present, or, a clue in your cupboard." Sherlock explained as he and John frantically emptied the contents of her cupboard.

"Sherlock..!" John was holding up a booklet of matches.

"That's from a restaurant nearby..." Mrs. Hudson was saying as her two tenants rushed out of the door, calling for a cab.

"She can see the sign from wherever she is!" John exclaimed, shaking his head as they jumped into an empty cab and gave the driver the restaurant's address. "Sasaki really is resourceful!"

Sherlock called Lestrade urgently on his phone. They spoke for a few minutes before Sherlock hung up. "Lestrade says that the Whitefields own a square of property in the neighborhood, it's a rundown old building that hasn't been in use for years."

"Apparently not, though." John grumbled dryly.

"Lestrade is rounding up his men and is getting a warrant for the couple's arrest." Sherlock told him brusquely.

"Do you think...?" John tentatively broke the brief silence but Sherlock cut his sentence off with a look.

"Of course we will, John." John rolled his eyes in frustration.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

John Watson sighed.

It wasn't one of his exasperated 'Sherlock, I _said_ 'no more heads in the fridge!' sighs, neither was it his annoyed '_please_ tell me you at least know what the third rock from the sun is!' sighs, it wasn't his resigned '_must_ you be so infuriating?' sighs either.

"Alright? Are we, Johnny boy?" Moriarty smiled at him and Sherlock.

Sherlock and John had arrived at the abandoned building just ten minutes after it's revelation and they found Moriarty waiting for them very patiently. John should've been expecting a twist like this. "Jim Moriarty..." Sherlock hissed between gritted teeth.

Moriarty sent an elated look in the detective's direction. "Sherlock!" he near squealed. "Sherlock Holmes... I've been dying to come out and play again. Did you miss me?" Moriarty's Irish accent sang through the silence.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock demanded, pulling a gun out of his waistband and pointing it at the criminal mastermind. John's heart sank when he saw that it was his own weapon. He'd have to remind himself to Sherlock-proof his personal items when they got back, as if that would stop him, though.

"Why else?" Moriarty inclined his head, patiently waiting for Sherlock to come to his conclusion. The moment the detective had deduced Moriarty's game, the madman turned to John with a hint. "She really is fascinating, isn't she, Sherlock?" He spoke to Sherlock while watching John's expression. Then he turned to see Sherlock's. "Just like looking into a mirror."

"What does Sasaki have to do with-" Moriarty shot John a mock-reproachful look.

"Quiet, Johnny boy!" he admonished. "Sherlock and I are talking."

John shot a puzzled glance in Sherlock's direction, silently demanding an explanation. "Tabula rasa." Sherlock ground out, gaze not moving from Moriarty, his expression unreadable.

Moriarty's eyes lit up merrily and he clapped his hands. "Very good!" he grinned widely. "Very, very good!"

"The epistemological theory that individuals are born without built-in mental content and that their knowledge comes from experience and perception." Sherlock supplied for John.

"Yes, the reason behind the way children tend to look like their parents, and pets, their masters." Moriarty shot John a half-apologetic look.

Sherlock ignored the unverbalized quip. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Moriarty had the gall to look hurt. "I haven't hurt her, Sherlock, but she is... slightly different than you may remember her as." He shrugged his shoulder. "She did resist her captors valiantly, no doubt, due to John Watson's influence. She even managed to send you a hint, telling you her location."

Moriarty frowned, then, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Ten minutes later," He pointed to himself. "When I came in, she was rudely threatening to sever Katheryn's fingers, shove them down her throat, and rub her wounds in salt." He turned his palms upward and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "I think Katheryn is a gravely disturbed soul."

'Understatement' John thought with a shiver. "Where. Is. She?" Sherlock asked again, finger twitching dangerously near the trigger of the gun.

"Sherlock," Moriarty smiled patiently. "My dear, you know you can't gain something for nothing."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak when a series of gunshots rang sharply through the building. Everybody started, heads swiveling around. Where had the gunshots come from? Knowing Moriarty, his henchmen couldn't be too far behind him.

"I believe I gave explicate instructions _not to harm the girl!_" Moritary roared at nothing in particular, not giving his henchmen's positions away. Sherlock's dominate arm, which held the gun, tensed visibly at the shout. "When will they ever learn?" Moriarty groaned in despair at Sherlock.

They heard the sound of a rusty door creaking open and two sets of footsteps neared them from the darkness. Sebastien walked out of the shadows, dragging Sasaki along by the arm with one hand as he held a gun in the other. Moriarty leveled a withering glare at his henchman for interrupting his and Sherlock's confrontation. "Sorry, Sir, but she tried to escape." Sebastien apologized gruffly, walking the last few steps to Moriarty in long strides, jostling Sasaki and forcing her to jog to keep up with him.

"Oh? Causing trouble, are we?" Moriarty raised his eyebrows. Sasaki glared at Sebastien, clearly irked at being man-handled.

Then she shook herself out of her captor's grip and wiped all evidence of discomfort from her face when she faced the crime lord. "You _know_ I can't help myself," Sasaki smirked up at Moriarty, her smile and musical lilt in her voice made the stomaches of the other residents of the room drop into their feet. "I just _love_ the attention." She was slightly intimidating, at least to Sebastien and John. And she knew it.

Sebastien then held out an empty handgun holster, there were several gaping cavities in the leather. "Made a lunge for the trigger, took the leg out of one of ours and a shoulder of another, had to cut them loose."

Sasaki smiled innocently at Moriarty. "Sure, Jim, I'm grateful that you saved me... saved my arm, at least." John now noticed the tear in Sasaki's sleeve and the splash of red. "But waiting patiently for Sherlock to _waltz_ in on his glorious white steed and save me just wouldn't do." Sasaki shook her head slightly. "It just wouldn't... it's _boring_." Sasaki grinned smugly at Moriarty like she was just dying to speak those words to him.

"Quite honestly, I'm disappointed." She continued. "From what I'd read in John's blog, I had expected you to be a little more entertaining." She shook her head again, letting out a sad sigh for the sole reason of mocking Moriarty. "But really, you're just barely more than an absolute psycho, arn't you?" Moriarty's eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips into a thin, hard line. "A psychopathic pyromaniac." Sebastien wisely clamped a hand around the girl's mouth, silencing her.

John swallowed hard, did Sasaki have a death wish! Why was she purposefully angering Moriarty? Was she... _distracting_ Moriarty from something? He shot Sherlock an uneasy glance to find the detective's eyes no longer on his opponents, but darting around toward the building's windows. John also gazed around and finally caught sight of a faint shadow moving behind a misty second-floor window. He nudged Sherlock in the ribs and subtly inclined his head in the direction he had seen the shadow.

Sherlock spared a momentary glance and the creases in his forehead decreased drastically. "Moriarty," he called out evenly, showing absolutely no excitement, or nervousness.

Moriarty tore his gaze away from Sasaki and his entire behavior changed. The cold, ruthless crime lord was gone and he had left the charming, but spoiled child in his place. "How thoughtless of me!" The madman exclaimed, eyes widening in mock surprise. "You will forgive me, I was... _distracted_."

Sherlock smirked smugly. "Yes, you were." Both villains noticed Sherlock's sudden confidence and were immediately on guard, but it was too late.

The glass windows on the second floor shattered and several armed police swung in, guns primed and at the ready. "Not a moving muscle, gentlemen!" Lestrade's voice boomed loudly through the stale air. "You're surrounded, lower your weapons or we will open fire!" The Inspector walked through the front door behind Sherlock and John, flanked by several officers.

John's brow furrowed, wouldn't Moriarty have had a team on the look-out for the police? "Oh." Sasaki must've noticed a sniper before Moriarty's men, distracted, and indirectly taken out the look-out team in her 'escape attempt', John's mind filled in the details.

"Ah! Inspector G. Lestrade! The detective inspector with an exceptionally large heart for case victims, and a small patience for consulting detectives." Moriarty made a sweeping bow. "Jim Moriarty."

Lestrade unholstered his handgun and pointed it at Moriarty. "I am aware." he hissed.

A look of surprise and interest crossed Moriarty's face. "Oh? I don't remember my picture being posted on John's blog." he remarked jokingly.

"I saw your picture ID on Molly's phone and the same phone number signed 'Jim Moriarty' in Sherlock's flat." Lestrade retorted. A look of indignation crawled across Sherlock's face, he'd have to talk to Lestrade about the inspector's recurring 'drug busts'.

"Ah, very clever, Inspector." Moriarty hummed, still calm and smug in his situation. "You are a great detective, after all, in your own right. Pity you had to be associated with Sherlock Holmes. He has the power to make even great men look like bumbling fools." The madman smiled condescendingly. "Well, we can't all be geniuses, can we?"

"No, we can't," Lestrade agreed almost grudgingly. "someone has to do the legwork." Then he turned to Sebastien, gesturing to the gun in the henchman's hand. "Drop it." Sebastien didn't move, his gun was still pointed at Sasaki. The police couldn't move in on them when they had a hostage.

"Now, I don't think so, Inspector." Moriarty cooed mockingly. "While you have been so kind as to gather an entire entourage to escort us to Scotland Yard, we really have somewhere else to be." He rested a hand on Sasaki's shoulder. "Don't we?"

Sasaki rolled her eyes and shook Sebastien's hand off herself again. "Sure we do, don't have much of a choice, do we?" she responded dryly.

Moriarty, Sebastien, and Sasaki made their way slowly out of the building to where a car was waiting for them. "Pity, isn't it?" Sasaki remarked nonchalantly to Moriarty. "That the police should come when they did. I was hoping to see a more climatic end to Sherlock and your confrontation."

It took all of a second-and-a-half for Sherlock and John to realize what she was talking about. The end of the original confrontation. "Lestrade, pull your men back, now!" Sherlock barked loudly, grabbing John's arm desperately as he surged for the closest door.

The explosion rocked the building down to its structuring, throwing everyone, within a fifteen foot radius, to the ground. Sherlock grunted, covered his head with his arms, and glanced up to see the getaway vehicle burning rubber on the pavement before disappearing around a corner on two wheels. He could see John, in his peripheral vision, following his gaze, clenching his eyes shut and groaning in defeat.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The call came sooner than John expected, he was in a cab with Sherlock on their way back to Baker Street. Sherlock fished inside his coat pocket and pulled out his pink phone. He punched the recieve button. _"Evening."_ Sasaki's voice vocalized evenly. _"Well, it's more 'night' isn't it, Sherlock?"_ John squeezed his eyes shut in despair.

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked into the phone.

_"I can't say."_ Sasaki replied slowly. _"It wouldn't be fun otherwise."_

"You're there, arn't you, Moriarty?" Sherlock hissed.

_"Of course."_ Sasaki responded. _"I'm staring Sasaki Ayumu in the face."_

There was a brief silence before Sasaki continued talking. _"There are new rules, Sherlock... for this old game."_ Sasaki stated. _"There are no hints. No puzzles. Just a time limit."_

John and Sherlock exchanged dubious glances. It was always a game for Moriarty. _"Sasaki..."_ Sasaki's voice broke slightly, but she cleared her throat and continued valiantly. _"Sasaki will begin to die in half-an-hour. You don't have long, Sherlock. Find her. That's all this game is about."_ And the line was cut.

Sherlock immediately jumped up from his seat as the cab rolled to a halt outside their apartment, dialing Mycroft. The phone rang twice before being picked up. _"Sherlock."_ Came Mycroft's usually cordial tone.

"Mycroft, I don't have much time. I'm sending you a voice recording of a phonecall. I need you to enhance all background noises and tell me everything you can about where this call came from." Mycroft seemed to notice the slight desperation in Sherlock's voice and only responded with a calm 'you owe me, Sherlock'.

Sherlock replied the affirmative and hung up.

* * *

><p>"There was a train in the background noise, as well as an echo. According to Mycroft's calculations, the room is vaguely ten feet squared. There were sounds of cars outside the building, so the room has a window near an occupied street." John and Lestrade listened to Sherlock ramble as the detective paced the sitting room. "There must be a building nearby, but not too close to where Sasaki is, Moriarty would want to watch how his game ends."<p>

"And then, there is his favorite team of snipers." John chimed in.

"A cluster of buildings close by train tracks and streets?" Lestrade frowned. "That could well be anywhere in London!"

Mrs. Hudson bustled in with a tray of tea and scones for the men. "How is the case coming along? Have you found Sasaki yet?" she asked, clearly stressed.

"No, Mrs. Hudson, but we will." John replied, taking the tray from the trembling woman's hands.

"Oh, I knew I shouldn't have left the girl alone!" Mrs. Hudson moaned, wringing her hands. "A little girl like her can't fight off two men on her own!" Sherlock's head jumped up.

"What did you say?" he asked. "Two men kidnapped her?"

"One of them would probably be Gregory Whitefield, we have him down at Scotland Yard now." Lestrade informed them.

"The other couldn't be Colt, we approached him at Bart's when she was kidnapped." John piped up.

"Lestrade, you find who that other man was!" Sherlock told the DI. Lestrade nodded and left swiftly. "Mrs. Hudson, could you tell me what the two men were like?" He turned to his landlady and guided her to a chair.

"Well, they were wearing black clothes and balaclavas... there was also a woman among them." Mrs. Hudson trailed off unsurely. "But they spoke a little."

Sherlock jumped at the new information. "What did they say?"

"The woman said 'careful! Don't break her neck!' and another said 'You're right, death would be too easy for scum like her'." Mrs. Hudson dropped her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Two men and one woman. I could only suppose the woman was Katheryn Whitefield." Sherlock mused as John placed a comforting hand on Mrs. Hudson's knee.

"And if one of the two men were Gregory... who was the other?" John wondered aloud.

* * *

><p>"I think I've got somebody!" Lestrade called over the phone ten minutes later. "Harry Whitefield had a... good friend in the same football team as him. Harry was the best athlete on the team and would cripple them greatly if he left. The friend, Rodger Finnigan, was also rumored to be... more than a friend." John and Sherlock exchanged glances.<p>

"If he can't have him, nobody can." John groaned when he understood the reason behind Rodger's hate for deserters.

"Doubled with the betrayal of his football team, Rodger must have alot of rage. He was probably the violent one who was strangling Sasaki in the flat." Sherlock hissed. "Where does he live?"

Sherlock and John could tell Lestrade was smiling grimly on the other end. "Where do you think? In an apartment surrounded by a cluster of buildings and a train track. I'm sending you the address now."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

It was five minutes past the time Moriarty gave them when Sherlock and John got to the apartment. The two battered the door down and rushed recklessly into the sitting room where they found Rodger lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood, eyes opened wide in shock and a small bullet wound in his forehead.

Sherlock stepped over the body after only one glance and moved deeper into the apartment as John fell back to cover the body. There was nothing of great interest in the kitchen, or the guestroom. But Sherlock noticed traces of evidence pointing to Harry staying over a few times. A second toothbrush in the bathroom sink, the smell of a different aftershave, two cartons of orange juice on the kitchen counter, one with pulp and one without.

He heard John moving behind him as he entered Rodger's personal bedroom and heard him gasp at what they saw.

There was nothing in the room, no bed, no desk, no furniture other than a wooden chair in the middle of the room. Sasaki was seated in it, her head hung limply and she was secured to the chair by thick bindings on her arms and ankles. But that wasn't what horrified John. There was blood running down the chair's armrests and legs to submerge into a large crimson puddle on the floor. The room's curtains were open so the sunlight illuminated the scene perfectly.

Moriarty's henchmen had slit Sasaki's wrists and had left her to bleed to death as they disposed of Rodger and made their escape.

But Sasaki was alive, she stirred and let out a soft moan. John leapt forward to aid her. "Doctor!" The girl rasped frantically, making John halt in his steps. "Doctor, you would do good to leave this place... now." Sasaki cast a glance behind her.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Moriarty had rigged Sasaki's chair to several pounds of explosives. He would most likely detonate if anybody got too close. Keep everyone in the area safe? Or watch their friend die. That was Moriarty's game.

Sherlock spared a glance at John's pained face. Moriarty knew John couldn't just abandon Sasaki unless physically forced to. It was Sherlock's choice to let him go or not. The police would never get here in time before Sasaki bled to death.

Sasaki stiffened, took a deep breath, and opened her mouth. "This is a turn up, isn't it, Sherlock?" she relayed Moriarty's message breathily. Sherlock and John were, for a brief moment, caught up in the situation's deja vu. But now, John knew the fear Sasaki should be feeling when she said those words.

"Moriarty, let her go." Sherlock breathed almost under his breath.

John and Sherlock watched as Sasaki tilted her black head slightly, listening to Moriarty's reply. Then she bit her lip, ignoring what words Moriarty was filling her ears with. "Sherlock," Her voice cracked. "Take John and run." she almost whispered as she began trembling.

Sherlock understood. Whatever deal Moriarty had thought to deal with them wasn't worth it, and Sasaki understood that. "John." Sherlock grabbed John's arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Sherlock, no!" John shouted back, grabbing weakly at the hand that gripped his arm. "We can't just leave her to..!" Sherlock ignored the doctor and dragged him out of the flat.

"There's nothing we can do!" he yelled back at John in frustration.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Sherlock and John turned in disbelief at the voice.

Mycroft walked briskly across the landing to meet them. "The detonator Moriarty is using is satellite controlled. I just needed to hack said satellite and it would be impossible to detonate the explosives."

Sherlock stared for a moment at Mycroft in shock, then shared a look with John and rushed back into the flat.

"Sherlock! I told you to...!" Sasaki's protests were abruptly cut short as John lunged at her and applied pressure to her injuries as Sherlock undertook the task of untying her. "Wouldn't Moriarty... the bomb...!" Sherlock planted a firm kiss on the girl's ebony head.

"Stop worrying about things right now. It's not needed." Sasaki slumped out of the chair and into John's arms, clinging desperately to the front of his jacket and shaking in silent sobs of relief when the bomb didn't go off.

"Paramedics are here, Sherlock." Mycroft called out calmly from outside the flat. "I'll be leaving now." Sherlock just nodded at the door and waited for the necessary help to come.

"Sasaki..!" He heard John utter, slightly panicked. "Sherlock!" Sherlock sent a quick glance at his flatmate and then lowered his gaze to the girl in his arms.

Sasaki's face was a pasty pallor and her lips were more of a pink-ish white, then a white-ish pink. There were grey rings encircling her eyes, no doubt an unhappy result of a stressing few days. "Sasaki, don't go to sleep! Can you open your eyes?" Sherlock asked, getting on his hands and knees to lower himself more to the girl's level and gripped her left hand, applying pressure to the wound in a similar fashion to John.

Sasaki blinked her eyes open heavily. "Don't worry, Sherlock!" she smiled weakly. "It takes an average of fifteen minutes to bleed to death if the artery is severed, even longer without water to help the flow. I won't die yet, you of all people should know that." Sherlock chuckled fondly at her remark.

"Sirs?" John and Sherlock both looked up with a start, not noticing when the paramedic had arrived in the room.

"Oh, sorry, we'll- ... we'll..." Sherlock gestured toward the door, unable to find his words.

But the paramedic seemed to understand and assured him that Sasaki would be in good hands.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

There was a tentative knock on DI Lestrade's office door. Lestrade frowned, puzzled, all his subordinates never knocked that mildly, and Sherlock never knocked at all. He put his pen down, he could finish his report later. "Come in."

The door opened and Sasaki poked her head in timidly. "Hello, is..." Her eyes fell on the unfinished report. "...Is now not a good time?"

Lestrade followed her gaze and quickly put the stationary away, shaking his head. "No, now's a fine a time as any." He smiled a little in a valiant effort to let the girl relax. "Come on in."

Sasaki sidled into the office and seated herself on a chair opposite the desk. "My name is Sasaki- you probably already knew that, though." she rambled. "I just wanted to come in and meet you officially and to thank you for everything you've done. I heard alot about you."

Lestrade nodded sagely at her. "And I you. I'm Lestrade." He began fiddling with a paper weight awkwardly. "I don't know if Sherlock, or anybody informed you about Katheryn Whitefield and Rodger Finnigan."

Sasaki nodded. "Sherlock told me your officers dug Katheryn out of the exploded building. And I saw Roger on my way out of his apartment."

"Best stay out of trouble from now on, eh?"

Sasaki chuckled. "I honestly love the adventure, but you're right about that."

Lestrade nodded. "So, you'll be returning to Japan, I gather?"

"I live there, yes. Seems an unchangeable destiny." Sasaki chuckled.

Lestrade nodded again, then narrowed his eyes. "So, you can tell me, what are you really here for?"

Sasaki raised her hands in mock defeat. "Alright! You got me!" She smiled sheepishly. "The thing is, I have to catch a plane back to Japan in the afternoon." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "I didn't exactly enjoy the thought of going through airport security talking and acting like an eccentric consulting detective."

Lestrade chuckled heartily. "Smart girl. What about the doctor?"

A grimace graced Sasaki's features. "Uh, he's- well, scraping gunk off their microwave. I didn't want to interrupt." Lestrade winced. "Mrs. Hudson is also out shopping for disinfectant."

"Ah, I see, that would cause a bit of a problem, wouldn't it?" Sasaki nodded grimly.

"Sherlock also forbid me from meeting with Sergent Donovan and a man named Anderson." By Sasaki's tone, she had no idea who they were.

"First smart thing he's ever done." Lestrade quipped.

"I'm having alot more mental clarity now, though, thanks." Lestrade let out a snorting laugh and covered his mouth with his hand.

"That's good. You'd better be off, then, shouldn't you?" Both he and Sasaki looked at their respective watches.

"Uh, huh, yup. I'll be seeing you... sometime." Sasaki smiled awkwardly as she left.

* * *

><p>Sasaki grumbled as she wrestled with her baggage, she rarely brought much, but she was small so it made everything a little bigger. She sighed and went to line up at her designated gate, gripping her ticket and passport. She peeked ahead to see how many people were lining up before her and her heart sank. She'd be here for several minutes.<p>

Her shoulder's sank in resignation and she looked around to distract herself while she waited. She saw a curly, black head sticking out awkwardly above the sea of heads and almost laughed. Sherlock heard her snickering and had to slouch a little to find her. "What are you doing here?" Sasaki asked him, stifling another laugh as Sherlock stubbed his toe on a bag lying on the ground.

"Investigating. One of the staff members here was found dead in the baggage department and nobody wants to create a scene by calling in the police." Sherlock replied, sticking his hands in his pocket nonchalantly.

Sasaki peered around the detective. "Where's John?"

"At Baker Street, right where you left him." Sherlock snickered at his flatmate. "Poor bloke." Then he shrugged his shoulders after a lengthy pause. "Well, I suppose I'd better apologize. I hadn't been the best of hosts while you were visiting."

"Not for the lack of trying, Sherlock." Sasaki smiled reassuringly at him. "Besides, I was bored, and your experiments were entertaining." She made a face. "Well, when they didn't explode, that is."

Sherlock nodded with a laugh. "Of course." Sasaki passed her ticket to the stewardess and was let through.

"So, see you next vacation, then?" She smiled at Sherlock.

"See you then." Sherlock nodded.

Sasaki waved at him, turned on her heel, and walked away.


End file.
